Friday, December 3, 2010

Bitch Slap

Three women dressed in extremely tight and revealing clothes are bickering with one another and digging for some sort of buried treasure. There’s Hel (Cummings) who seems to the leader, Camaro (Olivo), the psychotic butch of the bunch, hopped up on some sort of pills and Trixie (Voth), the daintiest and most frantic. The treasure was buried by a Vegas gangster named Gage (Hurst), whom the ladies have just killed. Don’t worry that’s of minimal importance.

What is important is that this movie desperately wants to be so bad it’s awesome. It’s the type of film where each lady makes their big entrance by exiting a car cleavage first and in slow-motion. There are lots more slow-motion shots throughout the movie of the girls whipping their hair, bending over, throwing water on one another, touching themselves suggestively, twisting their faces into orgasmic visages and making out with each other. It’s often like one of those Playboy Playmate videos, but without any actual nudity except for a briefly bare chest of some random character’s only two seconds on screen. We also get more slo-mo in the middle of the action scenes as kicks, punches, recoils from automatic weapons and other strikes to the body causes hair to whip, lips to purse, boobies to jiggle…you get the idea. I’m sure this flick is an absolute goldmine for horny virgin boys lucky enough to come across it.

Those action scenes are manufactured by the girls arguing, other people interrupting them or one of the far too many flashback scenes. The flashbacks reveal a little at a time about each of the girls. Well, they’re supposed to. What they really do is play a major part in the story becoming an incoherent glob of B-movie madness that’s not nearly as enjoyable as it should be. It’s got all the elements needed to be truly craptacular: attractive women, guns, catfights, explosions and wacky villains. It just doesn’t know what to do with them all. Condensing this to a 10 or 15 minute clip on YouTube might have made it an internet sensation, worthy of all the lonely boy praise that would surely come its way. In its current form, stretched way too close to two hours, it’s repetitive, stupid and never quite perverse, bizarre or truly brazen enough to be what it so obviously wants.